


La Petite Mort

by Witchy1ness



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: F/M, Slight swearing, and if you haven't then what are you doing with your life, sexy time in the kitchen, spoilers if you haven't finished the series yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18491053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchy1ness/pseuds/Witchy1ness
Summary: What happens when Irina gets back from the mission she gets sent on in the post-script scene at the end of Assassination Classroom.





	La Petite Mort

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizable characters and settings are property of Yūsei Matsui, I'm just borrowing them :)
> 
> Reviews and constructive criticism welcome, flames will be ignored.
> 
>  
> 
> All innuendo aside I'm not entirely satisfied with this one, but I got tired of staring at it :P

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Irina pouted.

It was a common reaction, given the number of times he’d scolded her for her lack of professionalism at work. Despite having been an agent of the Japanese government for seven years now old habits died hard, and carryover from her time spent as an assassin still popped up now and then. The fact that her reaction had been delayed several weeks due to her – successful – mission in the Middle East was also nothing new.

The pouting lasted the entire drive home, though she tucked it away upon pouncing on their daughter for some much needed mommy cuddles. It remained tucked away through dinner preparations, dinner itself, and through a rather exasperating attempt at putting said daughter to bed.

(“How is it,” Irina would always demand upon returning home from a mission, “ – that a person can set their watch by the routine you keep your subordinates to, and yet you can never seem to remember your daughter’s bedtime?”

Her husband usually just shrugged indifferently, a small smile playing on his lips.) 

She didn’t bring it out again until halfway through dishes, prompting Karasuma to sigh and made the next move in their familiar dance.

“We were at _work_ , Irina.”

But there was no heat behind the common refrain, just as there was no actual hurt in the large blue eyes in the face that turned to look at him.

“But I’m your _wife_ , Tadaomi. Is it really too much to ask that you don’t treat me as one of your faceless underlings?”

“The higher ups didn’t want to have you under my authority in the first place, calling it a conflict of interest – and rightly so. Do you have any idea how hard I had to work to convince them that I _wouldn’t_ give you preferential treatment?”

The pout deepened, but Karasuma continued undeterred – after seven years of marriage, he knew the steps as well as she did.

“And then you go and pull something like that, when you _know_ there are eyes and ears everywhere…”

Karasuma watched his wife’s shoulders slump as she turned away to set down the dish she’d been drying.

Unseen by her husband, Irina let her pout drop and made a face.

He was right, of course.

He always was when they had this argument, but Irina had too much pride to just give in.

On the other hand, given how these ‘arguments’ normally culminated she wasn’t in any particular hurry to stop having them.

And so, knowing what was coming meant she didn’t jump when her husband’s arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her into the cradle of his body as he pressed his lips to her ear.

“You did a good job.”

Irina swelled with pride and just a touch of condescension. _Of course_ she’d done a good job, when had she ever not?

(She conveniently ignored the memories of her first few weeks as a teacher.)

She turned in her husband’s embrace, wrapping her arms around him and tipping her face up to press it into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne. Karasuma still kept himself in tip-top shape, and she loved feeling the contrast of his hard body against the softer curves of her own. She moved her head just as his lips came down, and she hummed in approval. The kiss was soft and languorous but it still sent her heartrate up and she pushed upwards onto her toes, turning the kiss harder.  

She stepped backwards until she bumped against the counter, then slid her arms from around his waist to around his neck, breaking the kiss as she did so. She hopped up onto the counter, Karasuma taking the opportunity to push her skirt up enough that he could step between her thighs. Irina locked her ankles, pushing their hips together as they continued to kiss.

Irina had always considered the act of sex to be a method of assassination in its own right, and not just because she’d used it to get her targets in a vulnerable position. Like carrying out a successful assassination, good sex happened when you had good intel: your partner’s likes and dislikes, their kinks, how much of an emotional connection they needed (or not, as the case may be), and so on.

If both were carried out correctly, both assassination and sex ended with a type of death – although it was rather more of the permanent kind in assassination.

They’d both agreed, early on, that her skills as a honeypot assassin were too good to bench. Even though neither of them had particularly liked the idea, they knew that being an agent for Japan would mean that there would be times she would have to utilize those skills. Not always to the same extent that she’d had in the past, hopefully, and now she’d have things like backup and radio contact and _help_ if things went sour. All things she adjusted rather easily to, she was surprised to find.

What hadn’t been so easy had been the adjustment to being Karasuma’s wife. Initially, when they’d first met and Karasuma had refused to sleep with her, Irina had just chalked it up to him being such a total square. But then, when they’d begun…well, dating wasn’t exactly the proper word, considering they went from being just colleagues to moving in together…courting, perhaps, and Karasuma still refused to sleep with her, it had sent Irina into a tailspin.

It wasn’t until Tadaomi had sat her down and explained – clearly, for once! – that he wasn’t going to sleep with her until after they’d married as proof that he didn’t want her just for her bedroom skills, well, she’d surprised the both of them by bursting into (happy) tears.

Unfortunately, Irina’s rather skewed experiences with sex had caused some rough patches early on in their newlywed life.

When she’d all but pounced on him on their wedding night, there hadn’t been any problems – far from it, good _Lord_ – but it was the morning _after_ that certain issues had begun to surface.

Sex had always been a means to an end for her; the idea of having sex with someone because _she_ wanted to, _just because_ she wanted to, had never occurred to her.

In addition, Irina quickly realized she had no idea how to handle sleeping with someone she wasn’t going to either A) kill, or B) walk away from at the end of a job.

In short, she had had absolutely _no clue_ how to be in an actual relationship – which in hindsight was probably something that should have been addressed _before_ they’d gotten married.

It had actually caused more than a few fights, when Tadaomi had felt she was treating him more like an assassination target than a lover. It had escalated to the point that she had actually broken down in legitimate tears – something she loathed doing – and her husband had finally realized that she treated him the way they did when they were having sex simply _because_ she had no idea how to be a lover instead of a honeypot.

He’d also admitted at the time that he’d never been in a serious relationship either, and then they’d finally sat down and _talked_ with each other.

And now seven years on, Irina found herself enjoying the nights they just slept and cuddled, sometimes even more than when they had sex; because she could have sex with any man she wanted (not that she wanted anyone else), but only Tadaomi could make her feel loved.

Even though there were times when her past was too near the surface or she was gone on long missions and it meant they didn’t have sex for weeks, he always found other ways of letting her know that he still loved her.

This mission had gone off without a hitch, and had been entirely sex-free. This meant it had been over a month since Irina’d had sex with her husband, and dragging her thoughts back to the present she set about rectifying that mistake with a will.

When Karasuma felt his wife’s lips curve against his own, he knew it signaled the next step of their dance. His hands, which had been tracing lazy circles on her thighs, stilled as Irina’s clever fingers made quick work of his tie and tossed it to land somewhere over his left shoulder. She had half his shirt buttons undone before his next breath, and tugged it free of his pants and pushed off his shoulders before the next.

Karasuma couldn’t deny the sense of masculine satisfaction that curled through him at his wife’s appreciative sounds as she ran her nails ever-so-lightly across his shoulders and down his abdomen. He’d learned early on that while Irina enjoyed his body as a whole, she seemed to have a particular fascination with his torso. He’d gotten her to confess why, one night – and the thought of _how_ he’d gotten her to confess caused his breathing to turn harsh.

When he pulled back to take in his wife’s flushed cheeks and swollen lips, his sense of urgency grew. He wrapped his arms around Irina’s waist, and she had only a brief moment of warning before he picked her and turned to lay her carefully down on the recently cleared kitchen table. The show of strength had her breathing harder, like he knew it would, and he smoothly set about divesting her of her blouse before she could pull him back down.

Irina arched attractively under his ministrations – something he respected her for because he knew the table wasn’t the most comfortable thing to lie on, but damn it they weren’t going to make it to the bedroom this round – and then he finally managed to get that last damn button open so he could slide his hands back up her ribcage and have her push her breasts into his hands.

While Karasuma didn’t necessarily consider himself a breast-man, he would admit to a particular fascination with his wife’s. Her nipples were already sharp little points beneath her slip, so he wasted no time freeing them and bringing his mouth to one while a hand pinched its twin. Irina raked her fingers through his hair in appreciation, and soon his steady ministrations had her rocking her hips up to meet his.

“ _Tadaomi….”_

The way she sighed his name sent a wave of lust washing through him, but rather than act on it, Karasuma straightened up to take in the sight. Irina’s hair was spread out across the tabletop, an attractive blond halo that only accentuated her lust-darkened blue eyes and the flush of her skin. The fact that she was partially unclothed made her even more alluring than if she’d been completely naked, and he suppressed an instinctive twitch when she raked her nails down his pecs and over his abs, unlatching his belt with a coy smile.

He grabbed her hands before they could reach their goal, pinning them above her head by lancing their fingers together and ducking his head for more mind-blowing kisses. He swallowed her huff of frustration, squeezing her fingers and then releasing them to trail work-roughened fingers over her soft skin.

Irina nearly growled when her husband indicated for her to leave her hands above her head.

Not that she didn’t enjoy the light play they indulged in occasionally, but right now she wasn’t in the playing mood. She was tempted to disobey, but knew that if she did there was a very high likelihood that Karasuma would walk away and leave her aching and unfulfilled, at least until she’d properly ‘apologized.’

Which, again, wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen, but Irina didn’t want to draw this out.

Maybe on the next round or two, yes – if their daughter let them get that far – but right now was it just too much to ask that her husband hurry up and fuck her already?

Apparently the answer was yes, as Karasuma continued in his quest to touch and kiss every part of her that _wasn’t_ an erogenous zone.

He’d made his way down her arms, to her abdomen, and then across her hips and down her legs all the way to her toes and back, again skirting the parts of her – the obvious as well as the not-so-obvious – that _really_ needed his single-minded attention.

By the time he’d made his way back up her thighs, Irina was ready to scream with frustration, something she knew her husband was all too aware of, given the rather smug glint in his dark eyes. And when he paused, resting his chin on one thigh (he’d clearly grabbed a kitchen chair to sit in at one point and when did that happen?) and just _looked_ at her, with his lust-darkened eyes and tousled hair, Irina was tempted to kick him.

Instead, she brought her hands down ( _Pins and needles, pins and needles, ow ow ow….!_ ) and shimmied her skirt up to around her waist, female satisfaction written all over her face when she saw her husband take in the scrap of fabric that she wore, with the tiny bows on either side of her hips.

“Irina…”

And oh Lord the things that growl did to her insides and she slowly undulated, canting her hips enticingly and hoping he’d _get the goddamn message already!_

(Later she’d laughingly swear that she’d seen the actual words _Message Received_ flash across his eyes in that moment, which Karasuma would deny and then threaten to leave her high and dry; to which Irina would just smirk and tighten certain muscles and take a wicked amount of glee in how it made his eyes darken and his jaw and hands clench and then they weren’t so concerned about it anymore.)

Irina nearly cheered when he stood, sliding her hips back to the edge of the table and then her underwear was gone and he was pushing into her and _oh yes, finally, she’d missed this, missed him, and all was how it should be now_.

Never one to be a passive player in anything, she wrapped her arms around his fantastically broad shoulders and pressed her mouth hungrily to his. And then his hands were on her ass and he was moving them to the chair, and his hands slid down to cup her knees and she nearly came on the spot because the change in angle was _just_ _about_ what she needed. And then those fantastic arms of his were giving her the leverage she needed to move herself on him, bracing herself to move the full length of him, but it still wasn’t quite _enough_ , and she nearly sobbed as she felt herself move to the edge and just stay there.

Karasuma could tell Irina was close when she began twisting her hips. Her eyes were scrunched closed as she fought her way to orgasm, but it was clear she wasn’t able to move the right way to get what she wanted.

He was close enough to the edge that he was tempted to give in and then make it up to her, but knew if he did she probably wouldn’t give him a second chance tonight. The next time she pushed down on him, he slid his hands from her knees – ignoring her mewl of frustration – to her waist, and then slid them both down to the kitchen floor. The linoleum was shockingly cold on his back, but he ignored it in favour of sliding his hands to his wife’s ass, squeezing once before starting to thrust roughly up into her.

Irina didn’t even register the cold linoleum on her shins, too preoccupied with getting _exactly_ the right angle that allowed for Tadaomi to hit her clit every time he thrust up.

And then it was _oh fuck yes that’s the spot_ and her entire body was seizing as her climax rolled over her and she was biting her lip _hard_ because she really, _really_ didn’t want their little girl to hear her and come wandering into the kitchen.

And then she was slumping bonelessly onto her husband, perfectly content to lay there and catch her breath until the next round.

She let out a surprised squeal when Tadaomi smacked one ass cheek, head shooting up to fix him with a dark glare. “What the hell –“

“The floor’s cold.”

Still glaring daggers, Irina gifted him a poison-sweet smile as he shifted into a sitting position, breath catching in her throat as the shift sent sparks racing from where they were joined.

Looping her arms around his neck, she flipped her hair back as she imperiously demanded, “Carry me.”

One dark eyebrow winged upwards sardonically, but Irina didn’t flinch. She choked back a moan when he suddenly surged to his feet, and then had to bite back a laugh as he somehow managed to pick up their discarded clothing despite their situation.

“Really, Tadaomi?” she gasped as he moved them towards their bedroom.

Her husband didn’t bother replying, instead kissing her fiercely. She could already feel him begin to stir again, a stray thought popping into her head and making Irina break their kiss as she concentrated on smothering her laughter in his shoulder.

“What?”

The warm amusement in his voice made her heart swell, knowing that she was one of the privileged few who ever got to hear it.

As she tipped them backwards onto the bed, she pulled him close and murmured in his ear, “ _Ready Anytime!”_

 

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**Author's Note:**

> \--- So during the course of refreshing myself on the characters, I discovered that the motto of the Japanese Air Self-Defense Force (which Karasuma was a member of) is “Key to Defense, Ready Anytime!”, so it seemed appropriately inappropriate to appropriate it for this.


End file.
